


Misery

by Donna_Immaculata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/pseuds/Donna_Immaculata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus tries to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [It's All Been Done Fest](http://www.livejournal.com/users/aldalindil/70864.html), for the pairing Lupin/OFC and the scenario "Character A has a life-changing accident, and Character B helps."

Later, his memories of the years he had spent travelling the Continent would become blurred. He knew he had passed Poland, Belarussia and the Ukraine before the names became irrelevant and the sheer vastness of the land overwhelmed him. It took him months to cross the wild country between the Ural Mountains and the Cherskiy Range, and he didn't stop for breath until he reached the Sea of Okhotsk. He decided to never go without breathing for so long again.

He decided to forget about the thousands of miles that lay between him and Britain.

He decided to forget what had _filled_ the thousands of miles between him and Britain.

He had gone to Poland because he knew that in its Eastern part lay the last remainder of primeval forest in Europe. Seeing as he was considered - not only by society but also by the Order, and even by his closest friends - as unable to resist the pull of Darkness, he could as well go and live in an appropriate environment. The Forbidden Forest was out of question, being right under Dumbledore's nose, and so his choice fell on the Bialowieski National Park, the last refuge for many an outlaw among Europe's Dark creatures.

He took the Muggle ferry across the Baltic Sea and made his way south. Travelling in a foreign country was easier than he would have expected. The mostly rural countryside provided excellent living conditions for all sorts of magical creatures, who lived in well organised settlements in the depths of the countless forests he passed. He learned that Polish Muggles knew about the hags and werewolves and _upiory_ and left them well alone as long as the Dark creatures didn't attack first. He learned that the magical society wasn't based on a monetary economy and that he could easily get along by trading his labour force for food and shelter. He learned that goblins spoke Gobbledegook everywhere - although it took him a good few days to get used to the local accent - and that his Mermish was perfectly sufficient to make himself understood among the _rusalki_ \- water sprites. About those, he also learned that their delicate features and almost insubstantial bodies were deceptive: _rusalki_ were strong enough to crush human bones between their long, slender fingers and like their cousins, the sirens, were possessed of voices that had been the downfall of many a man.

Luckily, Remus wasn't a man.

He had begun to understand what natural werewolves found so appealing about the curse of lycantrophy. The more his acceptance of the change increased, the less painful his transformations became, the more the wolf enjoyed his runs under the moon.

For Remus had begun to run wild each full moon.

He had avoided it as long as possible, but in the Puszcza Kurpiowska, he had come across a large settlement of werewolves (which rather surprised him; werewolves weren't the most sociable creatures on earth), and they took him out on a hunt. He woke up the next morning, curled around the naked body of a young woman, a layer of blood coating his teeth, his tongue, and for the first time in his life it didn't make him want to vomit. She turned and smiled lazily and he fucked her right there on the wooden floor, amidst the heat of other bodies that coiled and stretched and moved sleepily around them. Remus sank his teeth into her tan skin, light-headed with lust and freedom. When he woke up again, she was gone.

He breakfasted vodka and bacon with the other men and took up his journey south.

The feeling of vague panic that had always proceeded the full moon was gradually replaced by joyful anticipation. As his lycantrophy had been caused by a bite, he would never experience an entirely painless transformation, not like the werewolves who were born that way, but he could give in into the change more readily, accept it as part of himself. He didn't need Wormtail and Prongs - and certainly no Padfoot - to make it bearable. He had never felt so strong, so independent in his whole life.

He trained himself to trace back his own track in good time to wherever he had previously deposited his clothes, marking its as his territory, his lair. It wasn't that he minded roaming the forests naked after transforming back into a human, but he didn't want to mangle his feet running around barefoot.

So when he opened his eyes one morning and saw himself on his hands and knees on the forest ground, in a part of the forest where he had definitely not changed the night before, he knew it would be a hard day. The stench of blood surrounding him didn't worry him, but something else did. Remus shook his head slowly, trying to determine what was wrong, when, all of a sudden, the pain caught up with his befuddled brain and shot up his spine with the force of a lightning bolt. He threw his head back and howled, wolf instincts taking over, before crashing down onto his stomach, his breath momentarily knocked out from his lungs by the sharpness of the pain. Remus panted and rolled onto his side. The moment he tried to pull in his leg, he cried out in agony, arching from the ground. It was minutes before he had recovered enough to be able to take a look, and what he saw made his blood freeze. His ankle was trapped in a solid, old-fashioned bear trap, the rusty steel jaws buried deep in his flesh. Although his ankle was quite probably broken - sprained at the very least - he felt immensely grateful, in a small rational corner of his mind, that he hadn't chewed off his leg when trying to free himself while in wolf form.

Remus pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned over his foot. Slowly, as not to move the injured leg, he reached over in the attempt to pull the jaws apart. A second later he fell back, panting, and afraid he might pass out. That was excruciating. White-hot pain shot up his leg, white flakes danced in front of his eyes, and Remus turned his head to the side in case he would throw up.

He caught movement on the edge of his vision and his eyes snapped open.

Padfoot.

Remus blinked. As soon as the world stopped spinnig, he realised his mistake. The dog was big and black, but it wasn't Padfoot. It was baring its teeth at him, approaching him gingerly. Instinctively, Remus snarled. The dog was growling, but it looked ready to flee rather than fight. Dogs feared werewolves and Remus was prepared to press his advantage before the dog realised how badly injured and unable to move he was. He propped himself up on his elbow and snarled again, baring his teeth at the dog, and even managing a deep, threatening growl. The dog whined and pulled in its tail. It flattened itself onto the ground, crawling slowly backwards, when a voice reached them both. A woman's voice.

"Burek! No, dokads ty polazl, kundlu jeden?"

The dog's ears perked up and he let up a loud bark. Remus fell back with a moan, covering his eyes with his arm.

The voice approached them steadily, the dog kept barking, and when he heard the bushes to his left rustle, Remus opened his eyes in resignation.

His gaze fell on a pair of wellington boots, travelled up legs covered in dark grey, rough cloth and a thick grey coat. He almost snorted at the look of complete and utter bewilderment on her face. She was staring open-mouthed, frozen in mid-motion, and Remus' raised one corner of his mouth an a half-apologetic, half-exasperate grin, when she, in turn, looked down his body. A deep blush started spreading on her face. Remus swore harshly and covered his groin with his hand. Her eyes snapped back to his face.

"Co ty..." she whispered hoarsely. "Coz ty tu robisz?"

He had picked up a few words in Polish, but it didn't take a genius to guess the sense, anyway. He shrugged helplessly.

"Had an accident?" he ventured. It always paid letting them know he was foreign at once. Foreigners were eccentric by definition. "You know, accident... vi-padeck?"

"Ach, wypadek!" she nodded as though that explained everything. She took a few steps closer. "Matko Swieta toz ci to prawie noge oderwalo!"

"Noge," he nodded. "That's right. My leg's pretty fucked. Hurts like hell, too. Er... boli?"

"Boli! No pewnie ze boli! Przeciez ci sie to swinstwo w kosc wcina! No czekaj-ze, czekaj," she said, crouching beside him and taking both jaws of the trap in her hands. "Moze ja to jakos..." She pulled, but to no avail. Remus didn't expect her to be successful, either. The thing was designed to keep a bear trapped.

She let go as he winced, both panting. Remus spoke first. "I don't think you can open it. Best thing would probably be, you go and get help. Um. Pomots?"

"No przeciez ze ci pomoge." She obviously got him wrong, assuming that he had urged her on. He hoped she would realised the futility of her attempts and go and fetch help. As soon as he was enough recovered, he could probably free himself. The trap would surely not withstand a werewolf's strength, and he would heal quickly. "Czekaj-ze no."

She turned on her heel and disappeared in the bushes. Remus exhaled sharply and leaned over his ankle again, urged on not only by the very real possibility to be encountered by a group of villagers (some of whom might put two and two together) but also by the cold slowly creeping into his bones. The ground was covered in frost, frost glazed over the fine hairs on his thighs and calves. Remus shivered. The only thing that stood between him and hypothermia was the damn werewolf metabolism.

He couldn't suppress a frustrated hiss when he saw her return. She threw an old rug over his shoulders that smelled strongly of horse and he pulled it around himself gratefully. The next half an hour was spent in agony. Remus writhed and cursed and tried to alternately crawl away from her and get closer only to push her away, while she was busying herself, unperturbed, with the trap. She had brought some scary-looking tools which she used expertly to force the steel jaws apart. When she straightened her back at last, the pair of them were covered in sweat and breathing heavily. She patted him gently on the arm.

"No, juz, juz. Juz po wszystkim. Teraz cie tylko dowlec do wozu i hajda do domu."

Remus passed out on the horse cart.

He came to to the smell of cooking. It took him ages to work out how to open his eyes, and when he did, the world spun around him. Memories trickled back sluggishly and when he was halfway through the recollections of the morning, he moaned with desperation. The sound obviously attracted her, because she leaned over him in the next moment and pressed a cool, dry hand to his forehead. Remus flinched at the contact.

"No nie bój sie, nie bój," she soothed. "Masz goraczke, ale to nic. Masz to ziólka, wykurójemy cie raz-dwa."

"Fever?" Remus whispered weakly. That would explain the dizziness and the shivers. His tongue felt too large for his mouth and somewhat... spongy?

"Fybra, fybra." She snaked one hand under his pillow and lifted his head up. "A teraz wypij mi to. To pomoze, zobaczyz." She pressed a mug to his lips. Remus smelled a clear, herbal scent and braced himself on his elbow to get a better leverage for drinking. It was hot and sweet and very, very - _herbal_. Good.

His head fell back heavily and he closed his eyes, feeling himself breaking out in sweat almost instantly. Whatever the stuff was, it seemed not less efficient than Pepperup Potion.

"A teraz spij," she said, and Remus slept.

Warm slickness was sliding across his chest. He was hot and felt flushed, but no longer dizzy, and he kept his eyes closed, trying to hold on to the sensual sensation from his dream. However, even as he was mercilessly drifting into consciousness, the warm touch didn't fade. Remus frowned and opened his eyes.

She was sitting on a stool beside his bed, on which he lay spread out and naked, with the blanket pushed aside. Her hands were gliding over his chest in slow, circular motion, spreading a thick greasy substance over his skin. Remus exhaled sharply. "What...?!" He tried to raise his hand to push hers away and to pull up the blanket that was currently bunched up somewhere at his hips, but his hand felt heavy as lead. Rolling his head to the side to take a better look, Remus felt the dizziness strike back with a vengeance. He swallowed thickly, frowning at why his hand seemed so far away and why he had no power over it. On second thought, though, it didn't seem important. Whatever the stuff was she was spreading over him, its smell was intoxicating and it made him feel delightfully light-headed. His skin felt warm and soft and his nerve ends tingled under her hands. Remus felt his body arch up into the touch. She murmured something under her breath. It was supposed to be soothing, but the sound of her voice brought him back from the fuzzy trance.

"No," he whispered. "Nie. Nie rob."

"Trzeba, trzeba," she said. "Nie ruszaj-ze sie. I tak nie dasz rady," she added as he began struggling to free himself. "To na goraczke."

"No. Nie, nie," Remus repeated. "I can't move. Why can't I move?"

He felt her smile through his skin, even though he couldn't get her face into focus. His chest tightened with panic as he felt his body slipping from under his control. His hand lay beside his thigh like a piece of dead meat.

"Nie dasz rady," she said. Remus blinked desperately to get her face into focus. " Ziolka ci pomoga, ale pierw mosisz tu polezyc, przeczekac."

"You've got to let me go."

"Uspokoj-ze sie, no!" her hand grazed his nipple and Remus groaned. His body had betrayed him for good, refusing to act according to his will, following its own. He felt the heat spread from his chest, up his neck and along the length of his arms and down to his groin. His blood pounding in his ears, he arched up again, and this time, the blanket slid from his hips. Remus moaned with humiliation as her eyes followed the movement. Nothing in her face betrayed she was shocked to see his arousal, however. Her strong, rough hands continued sliding over his chest. Remus forced himself to look up into her face, studying it for any sign of bewilderment or embarrassment. She returned his gaze calmly, and without as much as a twitch of a muscle, began moving her hands down his torso.

"Nie," Remus shook his head.

Her gaze remained calm and steady as she took his cock in one slick hand and slid it all the way down. Remus cursed hotly.

Her hand continued its stroking motion - slow, steady strokes that seemed to _pull_ the heat from his entire body and made it gather in his cock. The firm, rough hand created an impossible friction. His stomach tightened, and so did his balls. When she removed her hand, Remus hissed in frustration, but she merely reached for the jar holding the greasy salve and slicked her hand. She pushed it harshly between his legs, forcing his thighs apart, and cupped his balls, while her other hand resumed its stroking motion. Remus broke out in sweat that had nothing to do with the fever. His eyes followed the motion of her hand, up and down and up and down - and it was impossible to take, she wouldn't speed up, and his hips pushed up in desperation. Remus hissed as the hand holding his balls tightened its grip, pulling slightly.

He could see the head of his cock at each downwards stroke of her hand. It looked huge and purple, as though it was filled to bursting with blood. He certainly _felt_ on the verge of bursting. A thin keening sound reached his ears and he realised it was his own voice. "Please," Remus moaned. "Please!"

The hand sped up, crushing hard against his pubic bone on its way down, and Remus arched and gasped and came with a low cry at the fourth stroke. His semen hit his stomach, in a rain of heat and bitter scent.

When his eyes followed her as she turned away to wipe off her hands, his gaze fell on the window in the background. It was getting dusk.

"I've got to go," he said, urgently. At the sound of his voice, she turned back to him, holding a glass of water. "Can you let me go?" His limbs still felt heavy and hot. He accepted the water that she poured into his mouth. She wiped his chin dry with the back of her hand. "I can't move. But I've got to go. Mooshe ishch."

Her silence was disconcerting. Remus began to struggle anew against the paralysis. "What have you done to me, woman?" he snarled. She merely shook her head. Remus launched into a tirade of curses, while she began rocking to and fro on her stool, singing a soothing melody under her breath. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Please. Proshe. Mooshe ishch."

He sighed with relief as she got up and pushed the stool aside. When she pulled up her skirt, he stared blankly until his brain caught up and his stomach lurched. She had pulled off her stockings and knickers and it was only as she straddled him that he saw rather than felt that his cock was hard again. A wet, smacking sound told him she was smearing the grease all over herself. Her hand worked methodically under her skirt and then, she lowered herself onto his cock in a nightmarishly slow motion. Remus recoiled at the first contact, but his cock remained ramrod hard. His mind absolutely, frightfully clear, he felt the whole process of entering her minutely: the way his cock slid along the soft flesh of her thighs, the moment the tip of his cock nudged against her greased-up labia, the way they parted under the pressure and, most horrible of all, the way he slid all the way up her unresisting passage. She gave a soft grunt and rocked against him. Remus choked.

She was riding him in earnest, but her rhythm was irregular and jerky, and the soft mattress made him bounce against her randomly. Gradually, his frustration about being fucked by that woman turned into a frustration about not being fucked properly. Each time she rose, grunting with effort, the scent of unwashed skin and old woman reached his nostrils. Remus closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth, and just as he thought she couldn't possibly carry on much longer, he hand gripped his hip and tugged sharply, urging him to fuck back. Remus gritted his teeth. "I can't move," he hissed, but in the same moment, realised that he could move very well. His hands came up in a flash, and he gripped her around the waist in an effort to throw her off, but it was too late.

The burning sensation overwhelmed him, flooding him from the inside, melting his bones, and he fought it for only a second before he gave in and let the pleasure-pain wash over him. She cried out as he flipped them both over effortlessly, burying himself inside her with one forceful thrust and a feral snarl.

Her cry morphed into a high-pitched shriek of panic as moonlight hit the bed. Thick fur began sprouting all over Remus' face, his body, thickening under her convulsively clenching hands, and his mouth lengthened, opened and closed again, crushing the brittle bones of her jaw and tearing off chunks of flesh from her throat. Wailing hysterically, the black dog flung itself at him in a desperate attempt to protect his mistress, but the werewolf hurled it across the room, where it crashed into the wall with a force that broke its spine.

The werewolf howled with triumph as it spent itself in the lifeless body and leapt from the bed. It found the stable following the scent of the horse, which was thrashing madly in its prison, and stilled the animal with one snap of its jaw. Then, it took up the track to the spot where the bear trap was, a tiny part of its brain trained for the necessity to find its lair before dawn.

Inside the hut, moonlight poured over the heap of limbs and bones and blood on the bed.

When the first beam reached her face, the woman twitched. Skin and bone re-grew on her face, only to be instantly covered by thick fur. Her hands clenched around the sheets, her fingers lengthened into claws, and as the whole body twitched, shortened and thickened, yellow eyes snapped open.

Twenty minutes later, a fully grown werewolf pulled away its bloody muzzle from what was left of the dog. It stepped out into the open and howled at the moon. The other wolf's track was still fresh, but he wasn't important. That was her territory.

The she-wolf fell into a run.

She knew where the village was.


End file.
